The morning broke with a deceptive, golden calm. The city outside the window was quiet, resting before the day's work began.
Inside Do-hyun's apartment, the air smelled of dark roast coffee and toasted bread. They had moved back in once Jaemin's reactions to Do-hyun's scent had stabilised, opting for the soft, constant exposure to get him acclimatized to the alpha's pheromones.
Jaemin padded into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes, following the sounds and smells of breakfast. He found Do-hyun standing by the counter, pouring two mugs of coffee.
But the alpha wasn't relaxed. His shoulders were tight, his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder.
"... I don't care about the injunction," he was saying, his voice low and hard. "Just keep it buried." He paused, listening. "I know the audit proved the funds were clean. But if that financial blog runs the story before opening night, I will pull the retainer. Yes. Handle it."
He ended the call abruptly, tossing the phone so it landed on the counter face-down. He stood there for a second, gripping the edge of the granite, the steaming cups forgotten.
"Trouble?" Jaemin asked softly.
Do-hyun spun around, his expression instantly smoothing into a reassuring smile. It was a good mask, but Jaemin had learned to see the cracks. The shadows under Do-hyun's eyes were darker today.
"Just boring legal housekeeping," Do-hyun lied effortlessly, handing Jaemin a mug. "Paperwork for the venue insurance. Nothing to worry about."
Jaemin took the mug, his heart aching. He knew it wasn't insurance. Ever since the SPS foundation accounts had been frozen, Do-hyun had taken on the management of the legal and PR fronts. Manager Park had been helping as much as he could, but ultimately the silent war had landed on Do-hyun's plate since it was the Kang family's contacts they'd had to use now. He'd been handling it all on his own, on top of the grueling rehearsals, just so that Jaemin could focus on the music.
"You look tired," Jaemin murmured, reaching out to smooth a wrinkle in Do-hyun's t-shirt.
"I'm fine," Do-hyun promised. He pulled Jaemin close, wrapping his arms around the omega's waist. "Come here."
It had become their daily ritual: part intimacy, part medical necessity.
Do-hyun buried his face in the crook of Jaemin's neck. This time, unlike the days before, he didn't hold back, but immediately released a deliberate, heavy wave of his alpha scent.
Cedar. Rich, warm, and commanding.
Only a week ago, this would have made Jaemin gag. Today, he closed his eyes and pulled Do-hyun's smell deep into his lungs.
He felt a twinge—a faint, dull throb at the nape of his neck, like a phantom injury. But there was no nausea. No panic. Do-hyun's scent didn't smell like an attack anymore; it smelled like safety.
"How is it?" Do-hyun mumbled against his skin.
"Good," Jaemin whispered. "Just a shadow. It's fading, Do-hyun. It just feels like an old scar now, not a wound."
Do-hyun pulled back, searching Jaemin's face. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure." Jaemin smiled, relief curving his eyes into crescents. "We're almost there."
He reached for Do-hyun, and the alpha leaned in, capturing Jaemin's lips in a kiss that started as a question—soft, tentative, a careful testing of the waters. But the moment their mouths molded together, the caution evaporated.
Do-hyun's hand slid up the column of Jaemin's neck to cradle his jaw, his thumb pressing gently into the omega's pulse point, guiding the angle as he deepened the contact.
It was like opening a floodgate. Through the connection of their skin, Jaemin felt the walls of Do-hyun's composure dissolve. He felt the raw, jagged edges of the alpha's exhaustion, the bottled-up fury of the legal battles he fought in silence, and a frustration so profound it felt like a physical scream for release. It was the ache of a man who had been starving while sitting at a banquet.
Jaemin made a small, broken sound in his throat, pressing back against him. He chased the friction, his body arching into Do-hyun's warmth, desperate to offer the comfort his mate so clearly needed, aching to bridge the final gap between them right here, right now.
But then, with a supreme, shuddering effort of will, Do-hyun pulled back. He rested his forehead against Jaemin's, hot breaths gusting against his mate's skin with a hunger he was forcing himself to deny.
"Tomorrow night." Do-hyun's voice was ragged with want, the date hanging in the air like a promise even as he stepped back. "We play the Mendelssohn. We secure the season. And then..."
He trailed off, his dark, heated gaze dropping to Jaemin's lips in a way that made something curl deliciously in the depths of his stomach.
"Then," the omega finished, "I want you to claim me properly. No more waiting."
Do-hyun kissed him again, a slow, sealing promise. "No more waiting."
…
The mood at the performance hall that afternoon was electric. Everyone seemed to be buzzing with excitement. When Jaemin and Do-hyun walked in, Manager Park greeted them with a grin so wide it looked painful.
"Look at this," he said, holding up his tablet for them to see.
It was the seating chart for the Chamber Music theatre. A sea of red.
All the seats were booked.
"We sold out the entire opening weekend in four hours," Manager Park crowed. "The waitlist is almost past a hundred. The unplugged concept is a hit. People are calling it 'raw' and 'revolutionary.' And because of the ticket sales and the buzz from the Charity Gala, two new and very large corporate sponsors have reached out."
As the older man fished around to pull up the documents, Jaemin felt a large knot of anxiety loosen inside his chest.
The money was back. The orchestra was funded.
He looked at Do-hyun. The alpha was scanning the contracts, his broad shoulders relaxing as tension left his frame.
"We did it," Jaemin breathed, relief washing over him so powerfully it felt like vertigo.
Do-hyun looked up, his dark eyes shining.
The final rehearsal felt like a victory lap. The musicians played with a ferocity that filled the small hall. It was agile, emotional, and defiant.
When they finished the final movement, there was a moment of silence, followed by spontaneous applause from the musicians themselves as they broke into laughter. The fear of unemployment that had haunted the room for weeks had evaporated.
"Not bad," Yoon Hyeonwoo grunted. "My wife might actually let me back in the house."
"You don't look like you've been sleeping rough," Han Chaewon smirked. "But yeah… We're not too bad at all."
Jaemin stepped off the podium, feeling lighter than air. He turned to share the moment with Do-hyun, but the Concertmaster's chair was empty.
He looked toward the glass doors of the lobby. Do-hyun was standing out there, phone to his ear again. He was pacing, his hand rubbing his temples aggressively.
Seeing the strain radiating off his mate, Jaemin's heart sank slightly. Even now, so close to victory, Do-hyun was still having to fight the background battles to protect them.
The musicians were already beginning to pack up, looking forward to an early night before they returned tomorrow, to show the world their defiance in all its splendor. Jaemin stayed on long enough to say goodbye, then stepped towards the lobby.
"Conductor-nim?" One of the crew members from the theatre jogged up to the podium. He held out a thick, cream-colored envelope. "A gentleman left this for you. He said it was a gift for opening night."
Jaemin took it. It was heavy, expensive cardstock. There was no name on the front.
He flipped it over and broke the wax seal. Inside was a single ticket for the front row.
Jaemin frowned. A ticket? He turned the ticket over, and saw handwriting on the back—a familiar, elegant, sharp script that made his blood run cold.
Shall I come in to wish you luck, or will you come out to me? Don't keep me waiting, Jaemin-ah.